


Long way home

by everythingispoetry



Category: Die unendliche Geschichte | Neverending Story - Michael Ende, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Mad Science, Magical Realism, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingispoetry/pseuds/everythingispoetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After going through the portal with the nuke, Tony wakes up in Fantastica. Now, he has to face the Three Gates to find his way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long way home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened, but I just _needed_ to write this.

Waking up to a giant tongue licking your face is _not_ something that has happened before, but it is better than visiting the viscera of a giant cockroach from the outer space.

The tongue belongs to a giant fluffy _thing_ , different from anything you’ve seen before.

‘JARVIS,’ you rasp out, realizing how difficult breathing is, for some reason, maybe bruised ribs. There is no answer. You repeat the name – the designation – but there is still no reply.

‘Whichever friend you are calling, they are not coming. You fell out of the sky all by yourself,’ the creature says and you almost jump; it’s the suits weight that keeps you remotely steady. The systems seem to work, you discover as soon as you try to sit up and it proves easy; the tech is intact, but there is no connection with JARVIS.

‘ _What_ are you?’ you ask the creature that blinks, its warm ruby-colored eyes shining pleasantly.

‘My name is Falkor,’ it replies. ‘I am a luckdragon. I seem to always find the ones who appear lost in Fantastica.’

‘ _Where_?’ you demand with confusion, looking around; you are on a white beach, a boundless ocean in front of you and nothing but sand and water in sight. Despite your usual dislike of deserts like the one right behind you, it feels _safe_ here. As if something pleasant was emanating from the creature.

‘You people always ask questions you should know answers to… Who are _you_? I don’t think that Nothing is spreading again – ah! That would be the worst news! But surely a word would travel though the land and the Empress would know – and I have seen her just recently, she didn’t appear to be sick…’

‘ _Nothing_?’ you question, completely confused.

‘I didn’t expect anyone coming over. Did you read the book?’

‘What book?!’ you exclaim, growing anxious and angry. ‘What the hell? I have _no idea_ what you are talking about! I shouldn’t be here, wherever here is!’

‘Ah,’ the creature sighs. ‘This is most peculiar… You really seem lost,’ it adds and nods with the giant head.

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ you murmur, but the dragon ignores it.

‘We need to find answers – and there is only one place where you will find those in Fantastica. I will tell you everything but we must move; this is not a good place for a stay and you require some food. Get on my back,’ the luckdragon states as if it you should have known that you are supposed to do that. Maybe you _should_ know, maybe wherever you are it’s normal to know what to do around _dragons_. ‘I think I will know most answers,’ Falkor adds and you stiffen because you suddenly notice that the dragon, like it calls itself, doesn’t even have wings. When you point it out, it just smiles.

‘Is this a joke? How will we even _fly_?’ you ask. There is no one around and you don’t know where you are and there is no contact with _your_ world, so the only thing you can do is trust the creature – or die on the desert _again_. Falkor replies with two words that you will learn are his answer to almost everything:

‘With luck!’

 

 

(It’s a dream, you are sure, until you feel it all on your own skin.

You see things you would not believe yourself if someone described them. You are a rational man, a man of science, and yet this world contradicts endless natural laws and seems the be full of creatures that should _never_ exist and that you are pretty sure that they _don’t_ exist because you’ve memorized various biological classification theories and species’ specifications back as a child – and you are lost.

You just sit clinging to the dragon’s body; you are still in the suit because it makes you feel safer. Falkor doesn’t seem to mind, even though your knees and elbows surely are not too pleasant thing to feel. Your head hurts from all the thoughts running through your mind, your body aches from sitting in the same position for a long time. Your accompanying dragon notices that, though, and starts to descent. On the ground he wraps his giant body around your armor; you can feel the warmth as if something was touching your skin directly, and you fall asleep.

It repeats.

Time seems… inconsistent. You have no idea how much hours pass and it’s pleasantly freeing and terrifying at the same time. Everything you remember and you _know_ is real, you know perfectly, nothing from the life of Anthony Edward Stark has been a lie, but this – this crazy land is fucking real, too, and you can hardly wrap your mind around it. You try to analyze things at the beginning, but it’s impossible, so you make yourself ignore your doubts and just go with the flow.

You get to see, briefly, from the air, Morla and The Old Man of Wandering Mountain, the Silver Sage, Yor and a few Rockbiters. The Desert of Colors almost breaks you: it’s too raw, too virgin, too beautiful, you know you don’t _deserve_ to see it. The shades of the colors you have never imagined before will never leave your mind. Falkor narrates everything with eagerness, his words sometimes strange to you, as if taken out from a legend, but clear and concise enough to be _interesting_.

Falkor teaches you to take everything as it is, _with luck_ , and you have enough common sense to stop questioning how it is all possible after less than a day, as otherwise you would lose your mind. )

 

 

Falkor seems to know his way around and doesn’t need to ask anyone for help, but ultimately you stop by Engywook and Urgl’s place. The little gnomes cannot understand why you insist on wearing a metal suit; they examine it closely, making you almost uncomfortable but you don’t say anything because that’s what you have learned so far, the good manners: you _never_ question your host.

Your luckdragon keeps saying that even though he is _lucky¸_ common courtesy is one of the best thing everyone should practice and keep in their hearts. You don’t like big words, but living a tale probably calls for those.

‘Consider yourself lucky. I am bringing you almost straight to the end of the story, or at least to the only place where you can find answers,’ Falkor tells you in his usual deep soft voice just before you land. ‘I would let you find your own adventures if it was a different case, but you are needed somewhere and I can’t keep let you stay here longer than necessary.’

‘How do you know all that?’ you question. There are no answers that _you_ can read, at least not anywhere around; you still don’t really understand what does it truly mean: _Fantastica_.

‘I just know,’ Falkor replies with his usual mirth and you smile back even though it’s not an answer you were hoping for; it’s not an answer at all.

‘Another one of those lost boys, now, dragon?’ Engywook states, seemingly forcing himself to make the sentence sound like a question, but you know it’s not. You wonder how many others of you have been there before. Who the hell have they been.

‘You better feed him,’ Falkor replies and sets down on the ground. ‘I have told him about what lays before him. He is going to attempt to go through the gates tomorrow morning, there is no time to lose.’

‘Don’t let the dragon decide for you, boy,’ Urgl says in her strange voice looking up at Tony’s face with a scowl; she seems to have a permanent scowl.

‘No, I – there is someone who needs me, back where I am from. I’ve been pulled away in the middle of battle,’ you say, even though the memories seem dim and faded, like pages of an old diary with half-visible ink, a ghost of a script rather than a story. But you _know_ that you do not belong to Fantastica though and every Fantastican creature seems to be aware of that, too.

You talk for some time with Engywook – he is a scientist, in his own way, in a fantasy-like way – and to Urgl’s dismay you two connect quickly. You are staying just for one night so their banter amuses you rather than annoys.

They want you to sleep in the place prepared for _accidental_ guests, but you refuse and spend the night with Falkor instead; it’s easier to fall asleep with the warm body wrapped securely around yours. It’s almost like a reminiscence of your own bed, somewhere.

 

 

In the morning, after eating some strange stew full of _healthy herbs and warming spices_ , according to your hostess, you say goodbye to the gnomes and let Falkor fly you down to the First Gate. You have heard everything about them, from the almost-omnipotent dragon and an overenthusiastic scientist; it seems to be a comprehensive knowledge – as much as you can count for _here_ , anyway, where the only real tech, real science, is what you have embedded in your chest and wrapped tightly around your body.

The Southern Oracle, also named Uyulala, is waiting somewhere beyond and all you can see in rock and sand; she is a mystery. You hate those – and you hate illusions, but you are good with games so no one can tell that you don’t enjoy yourself at all.

And you are scared.

Falkor brings you close to the gate even though you could just fly in the suit; he says nothing but you know it’s how he shows his support. When you are on the ground he gives you a trademark smile, _kisses_ your nose as delicately as such big creature can – and wishes you luck.

‘With luck!’ you reply with a smile; if you die in front of the first gate you will at least know that you’ve spend your last days – no matter how strange and unfamiliar – with a _friend_.

You know what the first gate is: Great Riddles Gate. Sphinxes guarding the entrance, and yet they don’t ask questions like you’ve been taught back in your baby years. It’s strange, thinking about the past on Earth as if it really happened, immersed in Fantastican reality, you feel as if your past should be here.

You feel fear rise in your chest long before you approach the first gate, but when you are several steps away, the fear starts to grow. It would be easy to back away, a voice whispers in your head, you could stay with Falkor forever and learn everything about the land: almost none of your questions have been answered. Your thirst for knowledge is insatiable and you are not a strong person, you think, even if you resisted back in those caves on a different desert; even if you kept your promises about making a certain world a better place despite everything; even if you embraced the horrific privilege of the Arc Reactor – the name tastes strange at your tongue when you murmur it here and now.

The fear increases as you take slow steps towards the Sphinxes. You might be in your armor that would be a guarantor of safety back on Earth, but you are sure it’s nothing to the ancient creature. Destroyable in a moment shorter than you need to draw a breath.

You go on, though, because you have a _mission._

There is a _chance_ that you might go back and fall through the portal alive. _With luck_ it can happen, you tell yourself and keep walking. You are only more scared, but you know you can’t stop: if you stay in Fantastica, you will _never_ feel at home, you will _always_ be the alien, the intruder. And you – you miss Pepper and Rhodey and even your team, even if the faces you’ve known for so long seem blurry and unreachable.

You wish _she_ picked up the phone, you tell yourself, forcing another step ahead. You don’t look up and with the helmet on your field of view is limited; that’s probably for the best. JARVIS is not there to tell you everything you need to know. You have nothing to lose, you realize, even if you do come back and find yourself in the suit, drifting through vacuum in a part of the universe far from the Earth, surrounded by blackness and countless stars, it’s better to die than to live your life in deception.

Falkor told you that Fantastican time seems to work separately from all other timelines so there is a chance that you might still go back. A small chance, as you know they will be shutting – are shutting – have shut the portal to prevent destroying  the city and not only. You decided to do the sacrifice play, so you should accept that it might have been a real and complete sacrifice…

Then suddenly, when you _almost_ turn around and go back, the suit’s supported movements being the main reason you are even able to move your turned-to-lead limbs, it all _disappears_ and you suddenly feel so light that you are surprised you don’t faint. There is no fear left for you, not ever and you are as sure of it as you are of your own existence.

You look up and notice that the Sphinxes are behind you, sleeping calmly as always. They let you in.

‘So that’s the trick,’ you tell yourself, your voice sounding raw. ‘You have to _want_ more than you fear. Neat,’ you add and you’re disappointed again when JARVIS doesn’t reply.

Now, the second trial. The Magic Mirror gate, you can see it already: a large, circular, moon-like mirror, just like Engywook described it. _Reflect the absolute real nature of yours_ , the gnome said. _Some are so scared by the truthful image that they go mad._

You think you are going mad anyway, so that’s not a problem.

There are about twenty steps between you and the mirror and you take them quickly, decisively, not letting yourself think too much. You have been called so many things, you have _deserved_ so many of those names, even the most recent one, from the eve of the battle _: I know guys with none of that worth ten of you_ and _you may not be a threat but you better stop pretending to be a hero._ But you know you are not a hero, you have always known; nothing you do can ever be enough to pay back for what you have done.

They do not realize that you are self-conscious under the thick layer of cockiness and jokes and narcissism; people tend to forget that you are too smart to be that silly. You know _exactly_ what a monster you are – you take the last few steps with your eyes closed, a small nervous smile on your lips – and when you open your eyes and finally look into the mirror, you stumble back.

It’s _not_ a _monster_ or a disgusting creature _,_ it’s not even an ugly, twisted by hate and rage and blood-on-my-hands version of you.

What you see _is_ you, but so much younger: a late teenager, you recall. The reflection you is wearing an awful hoodie and weird jeans and kneeling in front of _Dummy_ , tightening one of the screws, a wide smile on your face.

For a moment you feel as if you were going to faint.

You – you remember it all, you can _feel_ in your body the movements you observe in your counterpart’s muscles. One of the happiest days of your life, when you woke Dummy up and it worked, you felt accomplished and relieved and happy and satisfied. It was everything you had dreamed about and Dummy knew it: he is still – _somewhere_ – your first and beloved child you would _die_ to protect.

It takes you a few long moments to snap out of the trance and _smile_.

This – it isn’t scary at all.

You are _not_ a monster, according to the all-knowing Oracle. You don’t question it, you’ve learned not to question anything in Fantastica because you don’t know this world; it feels a bit too beautiful to be true, but you know somewhere deep within that it is: you have never really ceased to be that boy, you just made a good job at screwing up everything for _years_ and being an asshole everywhere but in the workshop, where you are _yourself._ The reflection-self.

So you take a confident step ahead, walking into the silver surface of the mirror, and feel slight tingling – and then you are on the other side, facing the No-Key Gate, but you don’t remember the name. You don’t remember any name, neither a real one not a Fantastican one, you don’t remember that you wanted to examine the magical indestructible metal of the gate – you are not even confused. To be confused, you would have to know _something_ and you _don’t_. All you know is that you are light and happy and you laugh, your voice echoing delicately inside the strange suit you are wearing.

The gate, you see, is small and strange and it doesn’t have a handle or a keyhole. That seems so pointless. You examine it for a few moments, walking around, touching it, trying to push it open – but nothing happens. It’s just a door in the middle of nowhere.

In the end, you turn around and decide to go back – and it’s then you feel a strange compulsion to stay there a few more moments, as if something was holding you back, as if there was an invisible force pushing you towards the gate, as if someone was calling your name, even though you’ve forgotten what it is.

You frown and blink a few times but stay in the same place. You’ve examined the gate closely now and you know it doesn’t lead anywhere, so whoever you are and wherever you are going, it’s time to go back –

– but there _is_ a voice calling you; you don’t physically hear it and you understand the words. It probably isn’t even real.

Your frown deepens, but you are still lightheaded and giddy and you figure you can give in to the compulsion to touch the smooth metal once again: it’s not like you are in hurry.

It feels warm and pleasant to touch, almost alive under your fingers, you notice – and then the door opens. You cock your head in surprise, looking inside: there is a long row of columns. You are sure that there isn’t anything behind the gate though – you have checked that several times – so you smile wider and step in to uncover the mystery. The gate shuts itself behind you.

You don’t know for how long you wander through the corridors surrounded by colonnades, perfect colorful mosaics under your feet. At some point, you take your helmet off and discard it, sometime later you take the whole suit off; you don’t know why you are wearing it anyway. It seems so unfitting, given the place that you’re walking through: this seems to be ancient and timeless at the same time: the surroundings, the palace. Your suit doesn’t feel right; it seems to react to your wish, though, because you don’t do much more than move a bit inside and it starts to click and move by itself and a moment later it you freed.

The stone floor feels cold under your now-bare feet; it’s a refreshing sensation though.

You go ahead for some more time, right until – within the tranquility and silence in which your own breathing and heartbeat and footsteps seemed as loud as thunder – you hear a remote voice. It seems to be everywhere at the same time and it’s impossible to understand the words, but it seems to somehow get closer and closer to you; you stop and wait, not knowing what to expect.

‘ _Oh, traveler from a foreign land_

_I have long awaited thee._

_I have watched you travel safe_

_across the land and over sea._ ’

‘What do you mean?’ you ask in confusion, looking around even though you realize it’s futile; the voice is disembodied. _I have travelled somewhere?_ you question yourself silently. You are not sure it’s true, it doesn’t _feel_ like you need to be somewhere or do something. The voice replies, some of the words echoing hollowly.

‘ _If question you would ask of me_

_You must speak in poetry,_

_For rhymeless talk that strikes my ear_

_I cannot hear, I cannot hear…_ ’

You are quite sure you do not have much experience with writing poetry; you don’t remember much but it just doesn’t feel right. If that is the only way to get answers – for what questions, you are not sure – than you decide to try. This is interesting, you have a feeling that it’s something new, something you have never done before, and you are just plain curious. It isn’t as hard as you have expected to find the rhymes, even if the melodic rhythm feels strange when you say the words aloud.

‘ _What is your name and where am I?_

 _It feel so strange under this sky._ ’

The voice replies instantly.

‘ _You are here by mistake, it seems_

_The first in Fantastican history._

_And I am Uyulala, the voice of silence._

_Of the great Palace of Deep Mystery_.’

You frown and look around, chanting in response, walking around to try to find anything that could be the source of the voice.

‘ _If by mistake, which I don’t know,_

 _Can I just leave and you’ll let me go?_ ’

The voice sings easily:

‘ _You don’t know who you are yet_

_You can’t go back to our land,_

_You would get lost and interfere_

_With what the fate has planned.’_

You incline your head in agreement; you, of course, can’t remember why you are here and what were you looking for, but maybe it would be… beneficial to know that, so you ask.

‘ _How do I learn the name_ _that’s true,_

_How can I find my land anew?’_

The answer is immediate.

_‘Granted by our Empress’ power_

_Uyulala is answer. Uyulala knows all._

_Outside of this Palace and my rule_

_There is a world you will recall._

_I will offer you an answer_

_If you promise you’ll obey_

_Every word I tell you hither_

_Or you will be led astray._ ’

You nod to yourself, smiling softly to yourself. That does sound fair; you are somewhere you can’t remember, somewhere that doesn’t _feel_ familiar at all, on the most basic unconscious level. You don’t think you have seen anything like the colonnades and the colorful ornaments of the open palace before and somehow, you are sure you will never see them again. You don’t think you are a sentimental person but not feeling nostalgic about this breathtaking place would be a crime.

‘ _What is it that I need to do,_

_How do I know I can trust you?’_

There is the briefest of pauses before the reply starts to swirl in the air, as if there was a wind making it spin and dance, coming closer and farther.

_‘I have naught to prove my claim_

_But you don’t know thy own name_

_What I’ll do if you say no_

_Is make you die on this plateau._

_Again: in here you don’t belong_

_You’re not sure – believe my song._

_Uyulala is answer. Uyulala knows all._

_To give answers is Uyulala’s call.’_

You frown and bite your lip in confusion. You don’t know – that much has been told already – but you are sure that you aren’t an important person. You’re just one of many, a small ant, a ghost, someone is the background, easily dismissed – so you have to ask.

_‘Why do you bother with the small me_

_When great and so mighty are thee?_

_Why does your magic voice reply_

_To someone as small and lost as I?’_

There actually is a sound of laughter, as if _thousands_ of tiny bells were ringing all around you, the sound waves finding the way through long passages and around the obstacles. It doesn’t last long and when the voice replies, it is mirthful, but much more serious, too.

_‘There is no creature anywhere_

_That doesn’t deserve my help and care._

_Your presence here is but a mistake_

_Mien not natural, your speech now fake_

_Where you come from they sorely need_

_Your help, your strength, your brave deed._

_We’re not in need of aid this time_

_To keep you here would be a crime_

_And I can’t let you remain lost_

_You have to go back at all cost.’_

You whisper a _yes_ to yourself: this is how the world works, right? There is a price for everything –

_‘And what’s the price I have to pay_

_So that you, mistress, show me the way?'_

The reply comes instantly.

‘ _These are things beyond my sight_

_But I will do all to make it right:_

_The Empress knows you’re of good heart_

_She offers you this piece of art._

_Fantastical selenium is the ore_

_It will open you the door._ ’

Just when the words are finished, the soft echo gone and only silence and wind ringing in your ears, a small pendant appears _out if thin air_ and seems to be hanging on something  invisible. You shake your head slightly is disbelief; it doesn’t seem right that something like this is happening, you are pretty sure that it’s breaking some natural law, even if you can’t recall which. You take a few steps slowly and stop in front of the thing: it’s made out of a metal of coppery luster, it’s small, round, with an softest of engravings: it is a beautiful swirly letter _F_. You put your hand close to the thing and it feels – warm, even without touching. A small smile crawls on your lips; it’s _fascinating_. You suddenly feel like you have to study this little jewel.

But – it’s just half of the mystery, you remind yourself and take a moment to reply, focusing on finding the right words to ask your questions.

_'Which door is that you’re speaking of?_

_The one behind the colonnades?_

_The one I passed by the mosaics?_

_The one behind which desert fades?'_

There comes the laughter again, and suddenly, the voice comes close to you, so close it feels as if someone was whispering into your ear.

_'It’s none of those, my little boy._

_You’ll see a spring of water clear_

_Of life, we say, you’ll walk past it –_

_Alas, your time is drawing near!_

_Your lucky comrade will get you there;_

_Remote is the two serpents’ lair._

_You’ll show them the magical ore_

_And they will open you the door._

_The Empress’ sign is your gift_

_It’ll assure a journey safe and swift._

_What asks of you Uyulala kind_

_Is: keep Fantastica in your mind.’_

A shiver runs through your body as the voice disappears and the moment of intimacy ends, but you nod eagerly.

_'I promise. But to this pleasant game_

_Will there be end when I learn my name?'_

The voice seems to hum and suddenly come from afar, the echo more pronounced among the vast spaces.

_'You take this pendant and close your eyes,_

_When you wake up you will be in the skies._

_Nothing can happen more than once,_

_But all things must happen one day._

_Our meeting is over, the time has come_

_Go back home with no delay, delay…'_

You raise your hand to touch the metal, but before you do, you look around one last time and try to take in all the details to remember when you _wake up in the skies_. You starts to say:

_'Thank you, o Uyulala –'_

But suddenly you realize that the voice is gone; you don’t know _how_ , but you are sure that Uyulala is no longer around, no longer listening to your words.

You take a deep breath and wrap your hand around the pendant.

 

 

When you wake up, you _are_ indeed in the skies, flying at an enormous speed on the back of your friend’s back – _your lucky friend_ , now you know what it meant – and you _remember everything._

You start laughing. It’s remotely hysterical and definitely insane; you let the surreal feeling sink in as you laugh more and more until it’s hard to breathe, until your chest around the reactor starts to hurt a bit, but –

– there is the delicate warmth of the Fantastican Selenium touching your skin under your clothes, so it has all been real.

_Fuck._

A gift.

It takes you a few long moments before you calm down; it’s difficult to believe that you have just had a conversation where you spoke in rhymes – you have _never_ done that before, unless by accident – with an Oracle’s voice that doesn’t have a body and seems to be nothing more than a supernatural power. Even after the few days you have spent in Fantastica, this particular story feels really strange.

‘I didn’t say goodbye to Engywook and Urgl,’ you suddenly realize, but Falkor doesn’t even flinch when you speak up and continues flying without changing direction. ‘ _Hello_?’

‘Good morning, my friend,’ the luckdragon replies and you’re not sure he is being the polite self or mocking you a bit. ‘Do not worry, they have lived there long enough to know that you wouldn’t give them any answers about the Oracle, no one ever does. You are never told you shouldn’t, but you feel that right in your heart, hmm?’

You take a moment to reply; you are _not_ a person who speaks in those terms. It’s sometimes difficult to switch the way of thinking; the tale you’ve found yourself in truly is a fundamentally different realm.

‘Yes,’ you admit in the end, and sigh. ‘I guess… Do you know where is my armor?’ you add quickly, suddenly feeling slight panic raising in your chest, when you remember that you took it off in the palace and left it somewhere between the columns and fountains, looking broken and strangely fitting.

‘You don’t need it,’ comes the reply.

‘I don’t _care_ if you think I don’t need it!’ you snap, you are pretty sure you _do_ require it, especially if you go back to the Earth and get thrown into a battle or dangerous situation or land somewhere far from New York, how are you going to go back home? ‘I can’t leave it here, I do _need_ it, it’s an integral part –’

‘Don’t worry,’ the dragon cuts cheerfully. ‘Have some faith in our world. I am sure this has been thought of. Just let things be.’

‘Sure, let things be,’ you murmur sarcastically to yourself. That is never a good idea.

But – there is just nothing you can do right now, so you _have to_ let it be.

‘Are we really flying to the door – gate something? The serpents’ place?’ you ask finally and you _know_ Falkor smiles widely, even though you can’t see his face.

‘We are, and with luck, we shall be there within a few hours and you will be able to go back home!’

‘Couldn’t we do that straight away?’ you ask with a frown. That only seems logical.

‘You didn’t have the key,’ Falkor explains a bit impatiently. ‘You need a key, a pass. You can’t just ask the Two Serpents to grant you passage without the approval of the Empress which, I can tell, you have gained.

You remember the words: _You’ll show them the magical ore_ …The tiniest weight around your neck suddenly feels like a blessing.

 

 

It truly doesn’t take long to reach the _gate_ , maybe three hours by your internal clock; that could be a lie, of course; you can’t stop thinking that everything is so different here. You don’t try to understand it anymore, you just accept it – that’s not something you normally do, you are a _scientist_ and it almost physically hurts not to know all the _hows_ and _whys_ , all the mechanisms, all the answers to all the questions.

In the end, you decide to think of all that has happened as a dream; a very real one but still a dream. It doesn’t make it less real, it just – helps you to find your peace.

When you and Falkor arrive at the _door_ , which turns out to be two giant, _giant_ snakes, one black and the other silvery white, tangled, holding each other presents, guarding a building with a fountain in the middle. You just jump off the luck dragon’s back. He doesn’t seem to be scared at all by the creatures, even if he is many times smaller than their _ruby eyes_ , and you feel like nothing more than a little speck.

‘You said my suit will be taken care of,’ you say accusingly, staring at the white dragon. There is nothing but him, you, the snakes and their prey, and a borderless desert all around.

‘You have to _believe_!’ Falkor replies as if it were obvious. ‘And stop worrying. Now, show them your key and go.’

‘And you?’

‘I stay here,’ the luckdragon tells you. ‘I have naught to do behind the gate. Now, hurry! We, all creatures of this land, can feel the fate calling you; I swear I can almost hear voices call your name. Don’t disappoint them. When you are inside go straight to the other gate – and, for now, farewell!’

‘Goodbye,’ you say, pat the dragon on the head awkwardly and walk up to the black snake, mustering all your courage and _not_ flinching when it’s enormous body moves without a sound, creating a gate before you even manage to show him the pendant.

‘Wow, you all must be really eager to get rid of me, for my own good or for your comfort,’ you mutter to yourself almost inaudibly as you quickly pass under the serpent’s body; you turn around and manage to get one last view of Falkor, readying himself to fly – then the gate closes.

When you turn back again, you suddenly notice something: it’s your suit – as good as new, all the dents, all the scrapes gone – standing by the fountain. You run up and examine it quickly, but nothing seems to be wrong. You _almost_ hug the metal body, but you manage to stop yourself.

You turn around, looking for someone, _anyone_ you could thank, but there is nothing but the snakes, the fountain – you can hear the water’s deep murmur – and you.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ you tell yourself and put the suit on, leaving the faceplate open.

‘Whoever you are, goodb– _farewell_ ,’ you say and in that exact moment the white snake’s body moves, creating another gate. You don’t let yourself dwell or look back – you take off and fly straight into the black space behind.

 

 

You wake up to Cap’s and Hulk’s faces hovering over your body sprawled on a New York pavement; you realize you must have fallen and crashed somehow, despite JARVIS’ familiar voice telling you the suit is mostly intact. _Time’s up_.

You blink, staring at their faces for a few moments before you can process what has just happened – then you realize that you can still feel the new subtle weight on your chest.

There are things still needed to be done, you know very well; there is a _fate_ and you have a _mission_ , therefore –

– you smile and talk and get up and you act.

You remember.

You _believe_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks you for reading, I hope you enjoyed yourselves. 
> 
> I think it's one of the weirdest things I have written. Let me know what you think? I will love you _forever_ for any word on this :)


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